Protecting His Princess (6 page)

An American in custody was unsettling, as was Mikhail’s warning to his guests. Foreign governments had taken an interest in the Emir of Qamsar, and his announcement made it clear his wedding wouldn’t distract him from his vigilance.

“I’m fine. Worried about whoever Mikhail has in custody,” Laila said. Though they weren’t in her room, Harris was behaving differently toward her than he had in the company of her family. He was standing closer, and his focus was more intensely on her. Her conservative childhood beliefs battled with her new perspective on relationships. Leaning in and touching him was natural. Only knowing their relationship was make-believe stopped her.

“I am, too. I’ll see what I can find out about it.”

The sound of footsteps approached, and Harris pulled Laila behind a gazebo and against him. She could feel his breath on the top of her head and his heartbeat pounding in his chest. Wrapped in the band of his arms, she was warmer, safer. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Laila wanted and accepted the comfort of his arms around her.

She had never touched a man this way. She’d never been hugged by anyone except her family, and even then shows of affection were infrequent. Her body stirred, and she rested her head against his chest and fisted his shirt in her hands, holding him to her. How would it feel to kiss him? To feel the press of his mouth hot against her, the way she had imagined a kiss would be? Curiosity and desire created a heady mix, which confused her and made her light-headed.

Harris wasn’t her boyfriend or a man she was promised to marry, and yet being in his arms felt right. She felt alight with excitement.

“I think they’re gone,” Harris said. He stepped away and straightened. “My apologies. I wasn’t making an advance. I was trying to hide you. I forgot myself for a moment.”

Why did it sting that his actions were based only on protecting her? Being alone with a man was unfamiliar to her. What could she say to let him know she wasn’t offended without sounding forward? “I’m not upset. I’m glad you’re here. Being alone with a man is new to me, but it’s nothing like I’d imagined it to be.” It came with more powerful emotions. Desire. Happiness.

Harris looked at her. Watched her and didn’t say anything. His gaze drilled into her.

Finally he spoke. “Are you telling me you’ve never been alone with a man?”

Laila shifted under his scrutiny. She wasn’t ashamed of how she had chosen to live. It was, after all, a deliberate choice. Her aunt and uncle were trusting, and she could have secretly dated men in America. She’d been asked out a few times by customers in the coffeehouse and had declined their invitations. “Aside from members of my family, I have not been alone with a man. Not in the way you mean.” She had never before experienced the attraction or the connection she had with Harris.

Harris stepped closer. “How is that possible? Have you seen yourself? You’re gorgeous. How do you keep men away from you?”

Laila blushed. The compliment heated her insides. “It’s well understood in Qamsar that an unmarried woman of a certain age isn’t left alone with her suitors. My father or mother chaperoned dinners, and my father was planning to select someone for my marriage. He died before he’d made the final arrangements.” With the power and influence her father had held, he should have arranged a match when she was young, as he had done for her brothers. But his relationship with Laila had been different. Her father had admitted he was having trouble letting go of his daughter, and had wanted to find a good man with honesty and integrity who would treat her well.

“The first man you want to be with is your husband.” He spoke it as a statement, not a question. His voice lacked incredulity. He sounded as if he was trying to understand.

“My parents’ plan was that I only ever be alone with my husband. In America, I wondered about that choice and if it was right for me.” The darkness hid the redness that burned on her face. She’d been too direct.

“Now that your future is more open, how do you feel about that?”

She hadn’t entirely processed what would change for her when she started a new life in America. She was concentrating on the part of the arrangement that would keep her family safe and her from being married to someone Mikhail had chosen, likely someone she would find awful. She put the conversation back on comfortable ground. “I want to be happy. In America, I will learn to date how other modern women do.” Though she had worried about an arranged marriage with someone Mikhail would choose for her, she hadn’t had the same fears when her father was alive. He would have seen to it she married someone good and kind.

“You no longer want an arranged marriage?” he asked.

Once she was living in America, she wouldn’t have the means to arrange a marriage. She’d need to break ties with her past life and find someone on her own. “It might not be an option without a male in my life to arrange it or the connections to find someone. I suppose my mother or Saafir could help, but we’ll all have to find new lives and build relationships. I could find my own suitors.” Couldn’t she? Could Harris be one of them?

“I’m responsible for your health and well-being. I put you on this track, and if it goes off the skids, I’ll know I had a hand in that. If you end up married to a jerk you meet in America, I’ll hold myself accountable.”

She wasn’t planning to let her life veer off course, and she wouldn’t marry a jerk. She might be inexperienced, but she had good instincts. “You seem to believe I’ll make bad choices. I’m capable of finding a good man.” She wasn’t sure what qualities she would look for. Those things had been in the hands of her family.

He called her out of her worry. “How will you know the good guys from the bad? You don’t have experience seeing through someone’s lies,” Harris said. “The world is full of liars.”

He was included on that list. Their entire relationship was a deception. “Perhaps your line of work has made you jaded. Not everyone prides themselves on being a liar or needs to lie every day to get their job done.”

He winced. “Low blow. But truthful. Believe it or not, outside my work, I am an honest man.”

She challenged him right back. “Is that what your ex-girlfriends would tell me?”

His shoulders lifted. “They might. They would probably tell you I’m too busy and too involved in my work to be a decent boyfriend.”

Disappointment fluttered through her, and she got the sense he hadn’t finished his thought. Everyone had flaws, but his sounded like he’d rather spend time working than with his woman. “Would they be right?”

“Maybe. I always thought, for the right woman, I’d work less and find a balance.”

“I had hoped for the same. That is, to find a man who would allow me to work.”

“What do you plan to do with your degree?” Harris asked.

“I’d like to work for a small company. Help with PR and marketing. Flex my creativity but still get home by dinnertime to be with my family.”

“Those dreams are possibilities now. Find the right man and the right job, and nothing will stop you.”

Laila shivered. Possibilities. Her life had been defined by the opposite. By boundaries and distance and following directions given by others. Her first venture into making her own decisions was attending the University of Colorado. She had loved the freedom and being away from the watchful eye of her family in Qamsar.

Another sound of footsteps and Harris grabbed her again. She didn’t move or speak, afraid they would be discovered. She inhaled slowly, and the masculine scent of him tickled her senses. She wanted to kiss him. Everything in her clamored for it. She would be miles behind her peers in dating skills and at a disadvantage. Everything she knew about dating came from friends’ stories, books and movies.

Wasn’t Harris the perfect man for a test run? Good-looking, probably a great kisser and temporarily in her life. If she made a mistake with him or made a fool of herself, in a few weeks, it wouldn’t matter.

When the footsteps faded, she didn’t draw herself away. She lifted her head to see what he would do.

“Sorry, again. Instinct took over,” he said. His arms remained locked around her.

“This isn’t so bad,” she said. How did she encourage him to kiss her? In movies, it seemed as if an invisible force drew two people together, as if both knew when it was the right moment. Her skin tingled, and her stomach tightened.

Indecision wavered on his face. “You don’t want this.”

“Sure I do.” Her cheeks heated at the bold words and their implication.

Harris searched her eyes. “These are a lot of changes for you in a short time. I don’t want to put pressure on you or make you do something you’re uncomfortable with.”

In this moment, she didn’t feel pressure. She felt desire and longing. She couldn’t put into words exactly why she was encouraging him to kiss her. “I’m not uncomfortable.” Maybe anxious. Curious. Questioning her life and her decisions. Open to new experiences.

Didn’t he want to kiss her? She was out of her element. Unsure. And she yearned. That was the only word she could accurately apply to the situation. He was touching her, and she wanted more. What harm could one kiss do? She wouldn’t sleep with Harris or let it go further than a kiss.

Decisions about men and relationships had always been made for her by other men. This time she was making the decision. She wanted this to happen. She was ready.

Harris lowered his mouth and brushed his lips to hers. Heat shimmered from the contact across her entire body. The tip of his tongue outlined her mouth. He was playing with her, exciting her, and she loved every moment.

Laila put her hand on the back of his head and brought his mouth full against hers. She melted into the kiss. Surrendered. Her lips burned with white-hot awareness. It felt natural, and her body felt primed and ready. His kiss affected her in ways she hadn’t considered. Her prior plans to wait for her husband before touching a man had meant a lifetime of physical loneliness.

Until she had kissed Harris, she hadn’t cared about chemistry. Feeling the blaze of passion, she suddenly understood it wasn’t something she could pretend to feel with a stranger or manufacture in a marriage.

With perfect clarity, she knew her life had veered off the well-worn path beaten by her mother, her grandmother, her great-grandmother. Her doubts cemented into fact. A companionable, arranged marriage wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Deserved more.

His mouth drifted to her cheek. “We have amazing chemistry.”

“You’ve said that all along.” And now she got it. Truly understood the difference between liking a man and feeling a soul-deep pull toward him.

He moved his hands to her elbows. “Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

She couldn’t define a precise emotion. She felt light-headed and excited, hungry for more and anxious for another kiss. She couldn’t take it back or return to a place where she’d accept a loveless arrangement because tradition demanded it.

“Are you disappointed?” he asked.

Of the chaotic swirling emotions she felt, disappointment wasn’t one of them. “Of course not.”

“We should be more careful,” he said.

About letting it happen again? Or about letting it go too far? She couldn’t bring herself to ask.

“I should get you back to the party,” Harris said.

Now disappointment streamed through her. Their interlude was over as quickly as it had begun. It had irrevocably changed her. What was he feeling? She hadn’t thought about what she wanted her first kiss to be. It had always taken place in the context of her wedding night, with her husband.

Not in the courtyard under the cover of night with an undercover FBI agent who, for all she knew, was playacting even now. “We can’t be seen together entering the compound,” she said.

“I’ll follow in the dark. No one will see me. I want to be sure you’re safe.”

She didn’t have anything else to say on the matter, her feelings a kaleidoscope of emotions. For the first time, her future wasn’t defined by what another man decided for her.

Laila was deep in thought and jumped when she crossed into the path of two of the emir’s security guards. She didn’t dare look behind her to be sure Harris was well hidden.

“What are you doing here alone?” one of the men asked.

“Getting some fresh air,” she said. Harris’s jacket was slung over her shoulders. Would they realize she was wearing a man’s jacket? Had they recognized her as the emir’s sister? Her heart beat faster.

“Women are not permitted to be out here alone,” the guard said.

“Something bad could happen.” The leer the second guard gave her sent a shiver of fear down her spine.

Harris was close, watching over her, and he wouldn’t allow them to hurt her. But if he had to defend her, if he was forced to reveal himself, he would risk both his cover and his stay in the compound. Mikhail would take the word of his guards over his sister and her German suitor.

At least his leer told her that she hadn’t been recognized. The emir’s sister would garner more respect.

“I’m returning to the party now,” she said, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders.

They exchanged glances, perhaps considering questioning her further. They made the right decision and stepped to each side of the path allowing her to pass. Laila hurried into the house, hoping they hadn’t seen Harris or stopped to speak with him. Finding them both in the courtyard would raise questions she couldn’t answer.

Chapter 4

H
arris should be tired. On the heels of a long flight and a day of surveillance, he should be ready to crash.

And yet he couldn’t settle down and sleep.

That kiss. The potent, amazing kiss he’d shared with Laila. He hadn’t expected it, and he shouldn’t have let it happen. Laila was a virgin. An untouched virgin. Harris hadn’t encountered a woman like her—and not just the pure-as-the-fallen-snow thing—in years. She was innocent and naive when it came to men, and he’d gone and kissed her.

He blamed this mission and his terrible judgment when it came to women. He’d sunk too deep into character, worried he’d give himself away to the emir, and now he didn’t know where Harris, FBI Agent, began and Harris, German heir, ended.

He couldn’t allow a kiss to happen again. Laila deserved passion and love from someone who could give her the life she wanted. Even before she had told him of her plans, his profiler training had her pegged as a woman who’d want it all: a successful career, a devoted husband and three adorable children. She’d volunteer at her children’s school and make friends with the other moms, give her husband attention and affection, and stay on the ball at work.

If Harris got involved with her, he’d be risking the mission and breaking protocol, plus he had a messy history of getting involved with women who asked more of him than he could give, who expected him to be someone he wasn’t and who either betrayed him or let him down.

He loved his job and sometimes that meant traveling at a moment’s notice. He’d had to cancel plans, miss vacations, be a no-show as a plus one at a wedding. The women he’d dated didn’t have patience for his excuses. They didn’t understand the work he did, and in many situations he couldn’t tell them much about it. They’d get frustrated and then disinterested. A few had become angry and vengeful. Harris always sensed when the breakup was coming. Once over email, twice over the phone, four times in person, he’d gotten the speech that started with, “I need a man who can be there for me. Be there when I need him.”

Harris had shouldered a large portion of the blame for his failed relationships. He’d worked hard to make the breaks as clean as possible. He’d wished them well and moved on with his life. At least, almost all of them. His last girlfriend, Cassie, had been the exception. Her betrayal had left him for dead, and that he couldn’t forgive or forget.

Part of him felt like a failure for being unable to maintain a relationship for more than a few months. His brothers—as wild as they were and as intense as their careers could be—had found and married strong, capable, beautiful women. Every time Harris visited with his brothers and their wives, he was reminded of what he’d given up by making the career choices he had and not finding the balance his brothers had.

His mother had warned him that he might one day look back at his life and regret how he’d spent his twenties and thirties. On some level Harris agreed with her, and on another he thought the right woman would understand and not ask more of him than he could give. The right woman would stand by him when life was difficult.

Tired of lying in bed unable to sleep, Harris got up and used the bathroom in his en suite. He cleaned his hands and then splashed some water on his face. The bed was comfortable, and the sheets were soft. Sleep should be easy.

He returned to bed, and the indicator on his phone blinked red twice. A message. Pulling the phone into bed, he typed in his password, pressed his thumb over the fingerprint reader, navigated to the application masquerading as an e-calendar, where he typed another password and waited.

Three full minutes passed, and he was prompted for a third password. And then he was in.

He almost laughed at the CIA’s complex message retrieval system. Every message sent from his phone was encrypted and could only be decrypted at CIA headquarters with the proper software. Anyone who picked up his phone would have a terrible time getting his private messages, and even then they were seemingly innocuous. If his phone went missing, the CIA could access the phone remotely and wipe its contents. High-tech stuff, which he enjoyed, but Harris preferred working for the FBI. Harris didn’t like the overt paranoid thinking that the CIA operated under. His FBI team was straight shooting and open with him about issues related to the case at hand. Harris felt as if the CIA held back, giving him the bare minimum he needed to do his job. This joint mission with the CIA would bolster his FBI résumé with interagency experience and give him access to more opportunities in the Bureau.

The CIA liked their covert rendezvous. Like the man in the souk who had asked about buying his shoes. An asset confirming Harris hadn’t been discovered nor did he believe Mikhail was suspicious of his presence at the compound.

The text message waiting for him was in German from his “brother” Brady, also known as Tyler. “Mom wants to have steaks on the grill and try out some new recipes as soon as possible. Reilly has a new puppy. Mom doesn’t think he can handle it.”

Harris translated the message easily. The CIA needed to set up a meeting with him to talk about another agent or asset they had inside the compound. The person wasn’t trusted by the team, and Harris suspected he or she might have been brought on due to circumstances, likely someone with access to the compound or a guest of the wedding.

Harris wondered if the message referred to the American spy who had been captured by the emir or perhaps the man he’d sensed watching him earlier that night. He’d talk to Laila tomorrow, get the rundown of scheduled wedding events and look for downtime to arrange a meeting. Harris didn’t want to miss an event where Al-Adel could appear. Once he had a good time to meet, he’d call back and leave a message.

He stretched out in the bed and tried to get some rest.

When he awoke, a mild headache pulsed at his temples. He looked at the clock. Nine o’clock. Laila may have slept late, as well, trying to catch up on the rest they’d foregone while traveling. He reached for his phone and dialed her. In addition to his room being bugged, it was possible for the calls to be intercepted within the compound walls, and she knew not to speak of anything mission related.

She answered on the third ring. “Hey, you. How’d you sleep?”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asked, sitting up in bed.

“No, I was up. I just got out of the shower. I’m getting dressed for breakfast with my mom. You’re welcome to join us.”

His masculine brain caught and held the first part of what she’d said.
Shower.
Was she wearing a towel and nothing else? His body reacted to the image, and he was glad he was alone so no one saw his lower half saluting the idea. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll join you.”

“No problem. I don’t want to make my mom wait, so why don’t you join us on the upper veranda?”

Over breakfast he could ask about the day’s wedding events, a neutral, safe topic. “Sounds great.”

Fifteen minutes later he strolled onto the upper veranda, scanning around him for Ahmad Al-Adel. He spotted Laila and her mother on the far side, their table shaded by potted palm trees. He hated to impose on their meal. Their heads were bent together in conversation, and both were smiling. When he drew closer, they looked at him, Laila with a smile on her face and Iba with a nod of acknowledgment.

“Good morning,” he said, standing at the table and waiting to be invited to join them.

“Harris, please, sit down,” Iba said, gesturing to the free chairs around their stone-topped table.

Iba didn’t seem surprised to see him. Laila must have mentioned he’d be joining them.

Harris wanted to tell Laila how beautiful she looked this morning, her face lit by the indirect rays of the sun and the smile on her face captivating. However, commenting on her appearance wasn’t the right thing to do. Especially not in front of her mother.

Laila’s hand touched her lips, and Harris wondered if she was remembering the kiss they’d shared. It had been an amazing kiss. Explosive. Unforgettable, no matter how hard he worked to smudge it out of his memory.

A waiter took his order, and without a menu Harris assumed anything was an option. Eggs, sausage, toast, orange juice, coffee and a muffin. Maybe food would chase away the dull jet-lag-induced headache that throbbed at his temples.

The atmosphere on the veranda was much less formal than the dinner event the previous day. Guests arrived and left on their own schedules.

“I’m sorry I slept so late,” Harris said. “I hope I didn’t miss anything important.” After seeing them together, he wished he would have delayed longer to give Laila and her mother time to talk.

Laila shook her head. “Nothing wedding related is planned until later today. My mother and I are meeting Aisha and some other family for bridal henna.”

Perhaps then would be a good time for his meeting with his CIA contact. “I can’t wait to see how it turns out.” He caught the words and rechecked. Was that the wrong thing to say? Was the henna for a husband’s eyes only?

Iba laughed. “Relax. I understand you are not from Qamsar, and I don’t know how many of our customs my daughter has talked to you about. Given her love of all things American, I imagine not many. You don’t have to worry over every word.”

Laila beamed at her mother. “Mom, did I tell you that Harris’s mother and father work together in the family business?”

“No, you didn’t,” she said. “How do your parents keep business separate from family? My late husband’s job took his every waking minute, and I’d have to remind him that Laila, Mikhail, Saafir and I were here.” She spoke with fondness, and Harris got the impression her relationship with her husband had been balanced, less of a male-dominated marriage and more of a partnership. Was that relationship to credit for the changes in the Qamsarian culture in more recent years? Women had been given more rights, and while their status was not equal to men, it had improved from when they were treated like pets. If Mikhail had his way, he’d turn back the clock on the cultural progress in Qamsar. How did Iba feel about her ruling son’s stance?

It wasn’t the time to question Iba. She had asked about his family. “My mother is a strong woman,” he said. His mother had been a CIA operative for most of her career, and had worked in the field on difficult and dangerous missions. “She keeps my father in check.” The truth. His father had been a navy SEAL, strong and resourceful, but when it came to his wife, he had a soft spot. Their marriage had sometimes been difficult with travel schedules and three sons, but they had worked at it and were enjoying their retirement.

The waiter brought Harris his food. It smelled and looked delicious.

“When Harris returns to work for the family business, he’ll help Qamsar,” Laila said. It was an angle the CIA had wanted her to play up when possible. “Harris’s company can help improve our imports and exports, maybe put some of our local specialties and crafts on the international market.”

She was amazing. He didn’t detect a hint of the lie, and he was great at reading people. Maybe, like him, she was sinking deep into the part she was playing.

Mikhail would see a side to the shipping connection others might not. If he was working with Ahmad Al-Adel, he could use shipping connections to move goods for the terrorist organization and call upon family loyalty to demand discretion.

“It’s been difficult at times,” Iba said. “My late husband wanted to improve the country’s construction programs. We’re restricted by the international marketplace. When we can’t get the best or least expensive materials, we’re forced to shoulder higher costs.”

Iba wasn’t a wife who had let her husband work while she stood by idle. Harris got the impression that, publicly acknowledged or not, Iba had taken an active role in her husband’s career. It had to be difficult for her to lose control of that power in addition to losing her husband.

“Perhaps after the wedding, we can talk about some options,” Harris said, feeling a twinge of guilt in knowing that, by then, they would be in America and his lies exposed.

Though Laila knew the truth about him and what he was doing in Qamsar, Harris couldn’t stop thinking about how, post-mission, their relationship would be over, as well. She’d have a new life in America, and he’d be onto the next assignment.

Though it had always been the case, the more time he spent with Laila, the less he liked the idea of never seeing her again.

Harris remembered he’d brought the worry beads to give to Iba. “Laila and I picked something up for you at the souk.” He took the decorated cloth bag out of his suit jacket pocket and handed it to Iba.

Iba looked from it to him with an expression of genuine pleasure on her face. “Thank you, Harris. You didn’t have to buy me anything.”

Sure he did. The pleased expression on her face alone made the small effort worth it.

She opened the bag, and after a moment of staring at it, she lifted her face, her eyes misted with tears. “My late husband collected worry beads. I guess Laila told you that. He marked every special occasion with them. When we were married, though it wasn’t a traditional gift, he gave me a beautiful set. This is wonderful. Thank you so much.”

Laila squeezed her mother’s hand, and the look on her face when she smiled at Harris made him feel like a hero.

* * *

After breakfast Harris sent a reply message to his CIA contact indicating he could meet that afternoon around 2:00 p.m. in the souk. The confirmation came almost instantaneously.

In the meantime Harris had to get the monitoring devices placed throughout the compound. Laila knew her way around, and she’d agreed to help him. Some locations would be more accessible than others. Placement in the main dining area would be easier than getting close to Mikhail’s private quarters.

If Ahmad Al-Adel was attending the wedding, Harris guessed he wouldn’t arrive too early, or if he did, he would lay low. Being an internationally wanted man, Al-Adel would be cautious. Making an appearance at the emir’s wedding would be a calculated risk, but one he might take to show Mikhail that he trusted their relationship.

Harris had read everything he could find on Ahmad Al-Adel, and he didn’t believe the man was capable of giving respect to another human being. If Al-Adel showed up, it was because he needed Mikhail. With so many countries unwilling to negotiate or assist Al-Adel, Mikhail was one of his last remaining allies. In return Mikhail got unlawful muscle to enforce his will, even if what he wanted was outside Qamsar law. The money Al-Adel funneled into Qamsar was another bonus.